


The Eastern Promise

by Noctemus



Series: Blood In and Blood Out [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Bratva Oliver Queen, Dark Oliver Queen, Gen, Rape/Non-con Elements, The Rape happens off screen and is implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 18:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12753564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noctemus/pseuds/Noctemus
Summary: Oliver is a Captain in the Bratva and is having an off day.





	The Eastern Promise

**Author's Note:**

> An AU of Arrow where Oliver Queen stays in Russia.

Oliver stares in to the glass of scotch he is holding, absently rocking the glass so that the amber content swirls, not so lost in thought that he isn’t aware of Anatoly finishing up a phone call behind that ridiculous behemoth of a desk. Nor when one of Anatoly’s sons walks in leaving the door to the office open. He ignores him even as he feels Nicolai Knyazev hard gaze as he takes in the atmosphere in the room.

It’s been an odd day.

Not so much due to what has happened so far but in the weird mood Oliver hasn’t been able to shake off even as he continue with his duties as one of Anatoly Knyazev seconds.

There was no shortage of things to do being a Captain in the Bratva, and certainly not as a close friend of the Pakhan.

Today, Nicolai had stuck to him like a tick dragging him everywhere and although he usually doesn’t object spending time with the oldest of Anatoly’s sons, having become friends with him, it had been a little too much which is why he had sought refuge in Anatoly’s office the moment they were back at the house, knowing that Anatoly wouldn’t turn him away.

He imagine Nicolai was none too pleased being affectively ditched. He has wondered more then once if Nicolai was doing it purposely due to the date.

And yes, the anniversary of his father’s death had a tendency to turn his mood dark and he knows Anatoly is concerned for him. But he also knows that concern is also practical as that could mean he would loose a trusted Captain should Oliver desire to return to Starling City.

He has run out of ways to assure Anatoly he isn’t going back so he bits back his announce. Still, that wouldn’t account for the low level irritation that has been buzzing under his skin all day.

That is why he isn’t surprised when a short time later, even Anatoly’s presence isn’t enough to keep him calm and he trows back the scotch, enjoying the burn of the alcohol, in a bid to keep from saying anything he would later regret. His lips twitch in perverse pleasure as he sets the glass down on the desk knowing Anatoly would object to the damp ring it leaves behind.

But by the time he gets snippy against even Anatoly it’s clear Nicolai has had enough and is prompted to hook his arm around Oliver’s neck and gently tugging him out of the office. It doesn’t stop there as Nicolai keeps pulling him towards the front door and out of the house.

He is acutely aware of the small band of both his and Nicolai’s men following them out.

The dusk had fallen over the city, painting the horizon in various hues of purple and pinks. Both the chill air and the light made Oliver blink his eyes rapidly before they adapted and he allows himself to be more or less ‘manhandled’ into a town car, Nicolai slipping in after him.

Even though Nicolai is painting it as it is he that wants to blow off some steam Oliver knows better. Sometimes, the other man reminds him of Tommy in his ability to be able to distract Oliver when he gets too into his own head.

Today, that thought makes something ugly twist inside of him and he grimaces as he turns his head towards the window, idly tracking the scenery as it passes by. He recognizes the route and he wants to object if only for one simple reason but one look on Nicolai’s face tells him he’s better off keeping quiet. There is a stubborn twist to his mouth that Oliver has learned not to push.

As the car rolls to a stop Nicolai steps out the moment the door opens and Oliver rubs his face before following suit.

The Bratva has their fingers in a lot of pies. Both in legitimate and illegitimate businesses and Oliver has grown accustomed to it. Adaptability is one of the many lessons he has learned since the fateful day on the Queens Gambit. One of his least liked are the whorehouses that are kept. There is something about them that just leaves a bad taste in his mouth in spite off all that he has changed.

Looking up at the building he knows Nicolai wants to take him to, he tsk and shakes his head. Especially this particular one. Even so, he follows Nicolai as he turns on his heal and makes the short trip to the stairs. One of the other men whom are now falling in step around them must have called ahead as the door opens before Nicolai even puts his foot on the first step.

“Come, my friend,” Nicolai says in english, his accent heavy. “Let’s party.”

Oliver shake this head, but his lips twitch in amusement as he feels Nicolai arm settle over his shoulder again, tugging him forward. “You always want to party,” he mutters but not low enough as Nicolai throws his head back and laughs, the sound deep and load.

“Da,” he acknowledges with a wide grin as he hooks his other hand over Oliver’s head and tugs close, making Oliver bend his neck and smacks a kiss on his forehead. “There is always good reason to party.”

Oliver steps away the moment Nicolai relaxes his grip and throws a weak punch against his stomach, the grin on his face indicating it’s playful even tough the punch itself isn’t all that weak. Nicolai simply shakes his head and rubs the spot.

“Come,” he says again switching back to Russian as he steps up and with a hand on the back of Oliver’s shoulder steers him around. “You have been in a mood all day. This is bound to cheer you up.”

Oliver rolls his eyes, “We don’t exactly share the idea of what fun is.”

“So true, but a good fuck is bound to relax even you.” Although there is humor in Nicolai’s voice Oliver can still hear the steel underneath and know this wasn’t really a request.

Oliver shrugs and Nicolai clearly takes that as his agreement as he pushes Oliver up the steps to the brick building and through the door, following close behind. The other men are quick in fanning out in the large room that is for all instances and purposes a living room.

Oliver keeps his face blank the moment his eyes land on Sasha. It’s no secret that he dislike the other man, and he knows for a fact the feeling is mutual when Sasha sneers at him, his eyes tracking from the top of his head down to his polished shoes.

Much like Nicolai, Sasha is physically bigger then Oliver, although where Nicolai is fair in coloring Sasha is dark. His black eyes matching his hair.

And unlike Oliver, Sasha doesn’t hold Anatoly’s favor which is why he usually keeps the animosity to biting words if he acknowledge Oliver presence at all in the first place.

It is the very reason why his hackles rise when Sasha shows his teeth at him in a mockery of a grin, they eyes cunning and sharp even as he greets Nicolai warmly. He steps back and stands to Nicolai’s right even as Sasha splays his arms wide welcoming them. After all, he runs the place.

Oliver observes the pleasantries that is needed in situations like these even though he shakes his head when he is offered a new girl that has been brought in.

“It is exotic flavor,” Sasha brags and Oliver notice Nicolai perking up.

“She is American and untouched. For you, a Captain.” Oliver wonders if the sneer he hears in Sasha’s voice is in his own imagination as Nicolai doesn’t seamed to pick up on it.

He shrugs it off. He isn’t really in the mood and even though he initially rejects the offer as diplomatically as he can he ends up accepting as the others begin ribbing him amicably. Especially when Nicolai simply state, “You will fuck, her or someone else. I care not, but you will.”

He gets slaps on the back by the others as Nicolai turns him to follow Sasha. As Oliver takes the stairs he can feel Nicolai behind him.

The humor is back as Nicolai large hands settles on his shoulder and jostled him. Oliver forces a smile on his face. He knows Nicolai means well and it isn’t really his fault he is in this weird mood so he makes an effort.

He barely acknowledge Sasha as he indicates which door this girl is suppose to be in and lets himself be led by his friend.

There is only so much he is willing to accept so Oliver shakes his head and closes the door on Nikolai’s grinning face. Granted, Nicolai has watched him fuck before but not today.

Muffled through the door he can hear his friend’s laugh and he can imagine him walking down the hallway to his own entertainment. But soon there was only the heavy silence interrupted by the white noise that was the slowly rotating blades of the fan hanging from the roof and the sound of the girl in the room and Oliver face crunches up in distaste.

It’s hot in the room, not unbearingly so but enough that he shrugs his jacket off, which prompts the whimpers to rise in volume. He knows he sounds cold, without any inflection when he says in English, “Crying is pointless, it will serve you no purpose.”

He turns around and absently takes note of the room. He has been in more than one of these establishments before and they always tend to look the same. For all the ostentatious nature of the furniture which was a departure from the norm it still had that typical feel he has come to associated with these places.

He can sense the aerosol that was used probably just before he got up the stairs but it does little to hide the smell of sex. He wouldn’t be surprised if the stench has become ingrained to the very fabric of the room.

The sheet looks clean though and he knows that the heavy curtain to his right isn’t covering a window. Most of the windows on this floor have been bricked up years ago. He can hear the faint sound of an air conditioning neatly camouflage on the wall but sweat is already pearling on his temple, the fan doing little but provide background noise. As he walks further into the room he throws the jacket on the back of the burgundy colored sofa, his steeps neatly muffled in the thick carpet that covers the hardwood floor.

The room was decked out in old school brothel flare with several thick carpets of the Persian persuasion on the floor and though Oliver noticed the different detail his attention is on the naked girl cuffed to the head board. He has to school his face into a neutral expression, and a part of him keeps wondering why he keeps getting surprised of how young these girls are.

Though her dark hair obscure her face he can clearly see that. She’s thin too. And even though her bone structure would indicate that she’s always been rather willowy, this thinness speak of what he has come to expect in these girls, not enough nutrition and an abundance of drugs. She moves in a way, tugging on her wrist secured to the headboard that tells him that she’s been drugged, but not senseless as she is still able to react to his presence.

She has bruises littered across her thighs and back and knowing Sasha he is pretty sure that the man has already taken her up the rear. Not uncommon for any girl that has been set aside for a Captain and thinking back on it Oliver can remember that Sasha had had a hard amused gleam in his eyes when they first arrived.

He unbuttons his sleeves and rolls them up as he walks to the small round table where he can see a canteen with something amber and next to it an unopened bottle of Vodka. He turns his back on the girl as he uncaps the bottle and pours himself a shot glass, quickly throwing it back letting the sting of the alcohol warm him from the inside.

Pouring himself another glass he turns around and watches the girl. She was slender, and beneath the bruises he can see that she had fair skin and from what he could see from her hands as she tries to curl away from him she seemed to have been from providence. He idly wondered how a girl like her could have ended up in a Bratva whorehouse.

He drinks the second shot of vodka while he wondered what to do. Getting drunk is an option but a poor one and it has been years since Oliver has allowed himself to lose control like that.

He isn’t really in the mood to fuck the girl, but if he doesn’t she’ll be thrown to the others and for some reason he isn’t particular keen on that.

He’s pulled out from his thought when the girl says as she turns her head towards him, shaking her hair to the side, “please, don’t hurt me.”

From one moment to the next, everything changed.

Oliver feels like he has had a bucket of ice cold water dropped on his head or sucker punched in the gut because he _knows_ that face. He has loved that face since the first time he laid eyes on her. He is unaware of the glass that falls from his hand and quietly rolls over the thick carpet and away underneath the table.

The chill that went through him is quickly replaced with the burning inferno of his rage. It feels like it scorches him down to his bones.

He stalks to the bed ignoring how the girl’s tries to shy away from him and grabs a hold of the bar that the other end of her cuff is secured too and kneels on the bed, straddling her. From the periphery of his vision he can see her close her eyes as she goes rigid underneath him.

The feel of her damp skin against the inside of his thighs, soaking through his trouser fills him with gorge and he has to swallow several times to inhibit the sudden urge to vomit.

His chest burns with a rage he hasn’t felt since he left the island and his hands shake with the need to do violence.

Shaking his head to get a grip on himself, Oliver grabs the bar the cuff is secured to and violently pulls it apart, adrenaline fueling his strength. He takes the cuff and slides it off before scooting off the bed to scoop up the girl in to his arms.

She is slippery with the mixture of sweat and oil that appears to have been smeared all over her body and her struggling against him doesn’t make it easier to get a secure hold on her.

She is trembling and feebly trying to struggle against him and Oliver gives her a little shake. He can easily imagine her reeking of fear.

Her head falls back, seemingly too heavy for her neck and he can see her pupils is trying to focus on anything and Oliver gives in to the need and hugs her close. He says as he arranges her more securely in his arms, “You’re safe now. No one will ever hurt you again.”

He can see her eyes trying to see him even though she goes rigid in his arms for a moment before she’s suddenly a dead weight. Her voice is heartbreakingly fragile as she asks; barely load enough for Oliver to hear, “Ollie?”

Oliver has to swallow past the lump in his throat, “Yeah, I got you. I got you. I will never allow anyone to hurt you again Thea. I promise.”

And he was going to make damn sure that anyone that had a hand in putting his sister in the position she was in would pay dearly for it. Bodies were going to drop of that he was sure and he can feel for the first time in a long time that he had a purpose again, more importantly, a mission and God have mercy on anyone that stands in his way.

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> The above was inspired from a scene in the movie _'Eastern Promises'_ with Viggo Mortensen.


End file.
